


"Sorry, Not Sorry"

by Celeste666



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Encora Baccio, F/M, First Date, Not close enough, Steve steals a kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celeste666/pseuds/Celeste666
Summary: Steve Rogers learns something new from a university professor he's been protecting.





	

"Sorry, Not Sorry"

She’d practically jumped into his arms. Nearly always surprising him, this was by far the best. She’d caught on to his gambit finally, played along and even upped the ante. So much more than he could’ve hoped for. All of a sudden his arms full of her; the red coat, the hair, the eyes and skin so close; the feel of her shape, her weight in his arms, falling against him. Worth every bit of the awkwardness, every bit of the risk.  
He was still staring into the flames, nearly an hour now, playing and re-playing the scene, remembering his walk afterward. The fire had almost rewarmed his feet where he had them propped, the pillow he was holding somewhat the worse for wear at the corner where he’d been absentmindedly picking at a seam. It’d only been two hours but he wanted to phone her, hear her voice again, make sure it hadn’t been an illusion or a dream. Ridiculous. He’d even taken her card out, for the first time since the transgression, studied it and realized that, of course, it only had her office number on it, no home or cell.  
They’d met at the zoo. Always wearing a dress, even in the cold. “These boots were made for walking!” she’d indicated the brown leather seductively hugging her calves, and again he had the feeling he was missing something. Couldn’t help but follow the line of chocolate stockings up to the hem of her dress. Was it purple? Had he asked? Oh, yeah. He closed his eyes, the better to remember.   
“Well, eggplant I guess.” She’d decided, reaching down and lifting the hem a bit to study the color. It wasn’t that her dresses or skirts were short exactly. Eyes still closed - just short enough. The playback continued till the front door clicked and the clatter woke him from the flames.

She’d stripped off clothes and boots, washed her face, brushed teeth and hair and jumped under the duvet as soon as possible, trying to trap the warmth from him and savor it as long as possible. Guilty! Guilty. Guilty pleasure. Breathe. She drew in the cool air of her apartment through her nose. As long as it was above freezing she’d keep the window by her bed cracked open, the idea of “fresh air” in New York City seemed silly but she couldn’t shake the need to have a bit of the outside, inside with her. Breathe.

Laughing. They were on the stoop. Warm from the walk even in the cold.  
“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun at the zoo.” He said as they started up the stairs.   
“The zoo?” she put a finger to her chin. “Oh, the zoo! Right! What, that was only…” she mimed looking at a watch, just as he checked his.  
“6 hours ago.” Laughing. “Yeah, those shops in the Bronx were fun too. I’ll admit I wasn’t sure.” He bowed at the waist. “Sorry, I doubted you…” She nodded. “Pretty nice first date.” He was smiling.  
“It didn’t feel like a first date, though” she said.  
“Funny thing, I was just about to say that.” He added, turning toward her. “So what’s your opinion professor?”   
Her opinion was that the stoop was too small. Proximity was always so hard. After 47 years she knew herself well and just let the desires wash over her, unchecked, acknowledged, but unacted upon, carefully noted. She would’ve liked to put her palm against his face, let herself actually feel the line of his jaw. What was it about that with some men? The way their jawlines revealed so much; the tension or flexion of those bunching muscles, so small, but so telling. He was still looking at her, waiting.  
“About what? Exactly?” trying to retrace the conversation.   
“Is this our first date or not? We’ve been out a few times but…circumstances…” he made that wavering motion with his hand as if evaluating, still playful.  
“Well,” putting on her lecture tone, playing along. “There are a few ways to look at it, of course.”   
“Go on.” He nodded.  
“A lens I often use in cases like this is – context versus content, right?” He was still nodding. “So the context of those two…”

“Three.” He interrupted.  
“Oh, ok are we counting coffee that morning? Gelato?”  
“I am.”  
“Ok, those three times – the context was… A ruse, a deception. We were acting like two people getting to know each other and … hanging out.”   
He was listening but looking down the street; wrinkling up his nose, half-frowning, shaking his head, as if considering but unconvinced. She went on quickly. “You were working – so right. In that context it couldn’t be a date.”  
“Yep. But…” His eyes back on hers.  
“The content…of those times – the stuff that was going on ‘inside’ of the context, if you will… was just like dating, right?” He’d shifted his stance, still leaning on the rail but slanting toward her now. He was shaking his head, looking like a judge evaluating an argument.  
“Your honor,” now switching to litigator tones, playing, play acting. Blue eyes smiled at her and she went on. “I submit to you, what happened during those hours – the talking, sharing stories, laughing, even attending a religious service together… These activities are exactly what two people commencing a dating relationship often do. Am I correct?” Now he nodded, shifting towards her further.  
At that moment she realized how she was standing, hanging really; one foot on the bottom of the railing, one hand on the top, other hand gesturing in space, pocketbook dangling. She must look like a ten year old. Rolled her eyes to herself. But before she could gather herself back in, and right herself, he was reaching for the gesturing hand. He spread his big palm against her smaller one and interlaced his fingers, stepped closer and pulled their hands against his heart.  
She got it. Froze.  
“So my question is,” he started.  
“Son-of-a…” she swore.  
“Yeah, I know, I know. That was a cheap trick but, I’d like to kiss you goodnight? I mean, obviously, if this was our first date I wouldn’t even ask but...” She could almost hear the grin, feel its warmth against her turned cheek. “Your argument is pretty persuasive.”  
“Steve,” she tried to sound exasperated, looked back at him. Whoa. His face was so close, looked away again. That dizzying jaw line. “Today was great. I loved it, but I’m still 12 years older than you.”  
“And I still don’t care.” He insisted. “…and that wasn’t exactly a ‘No...’”  
She closed her eyes. Jerked them open again as the backs of his fingers brushed against her cheek.  
“You remember that day at the ambulance?”  
“Yeah,” boy did she.  
“I wanted to kiss you then.”   
“My cheek?” she asked, half-knowing, half-stalling.  
“Sure.” He said, leaning in and kissing the place his fingers had traced. She couldn’t help it; quaked.  
“Steve.” It was getting harder to muster the exasperation. “That’s not what I meant.”   
“Me neither. I didn’t just want to kiss your cheek.”   
She faced him full on trying to get control of herself, but now his thumb traced her bottom lip. 

His lips were full and warm, slightly moist and so alive, the kiss so electric, she lingered three seconds, felt like plunging in further but instead sucked in a breath and hid her face against his neck.  
After two beats and a deep breath she said. “Ok, well. That wasn’t so bad.” Opening her eyes she realized that at some point her hand had moved onto his chest.  
“Well,” he said softly, a little breathless, dipping his mouth to her ear. “Maybe you could grade me on a curve…” She could see the edge of the smile.  
She looked up. “That’s not what I …” but his eyes, the blush of his lips, his concentration on her, took her breath and she turned away.  
“Not what I meant.” Then thumped her head onto his chest.  
“OK,” sounding bemused. “What did you mean?”  
“Don’t laugh at me.” She retorted, trying to sound a little angry.  
“Not laughing.” He stroked her hair.  
“I just mean the world didn’t fall apart, or explode, or anything.” She said, sounded stupid, rolled her eyes at herself again.  
“OK, true.” He stopped for a second, then “Did you want it to? Or did you not want it to ‘cause we could try again and...”  
Now back up again and facing him. “Geez, you are so…” she stopped, seeing his face again the word ‘persuasive’ intruded into her head.  
He read the change in her eyes and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. So cliché, but so damn intimate she gritted her teeth to keep from trembling. Was this really going to happen?  
“So what’s the name of that flavor again?” He asked, looking right into her eyes. She smiled, exhaling. Unable not to grin. “You’re favorite, right?” He prompted, inviting her along. Had not been giving him enough credit, this one.  
“You know.” She said, quiet, staying close to his face, aware of her hand still on his chest. Getting used to an idea she’d been keeping away. Letting it sidle up to her, join them on the porch.  
“Yeah, but I’ll butcher it. Remind me, in Italian.” The invitation. Asking her to pronounce it. Sexy, damn it.  
“Encora’ baccio.” She intoned.  
“Another kiss…” he repeated, asking, inviting. Eyes dipping to snag gaze, checking in. Seeing the grin.  
Why the hell not.   
This time she let herself go, almost completely, literally letting herself fall toward him. His neck felt hot against her palm, she let her thumb follow that jawline. Warm lips, hands on her waist. He shifted her weight, pushing her slightly more upright. She was thinking the kiss was over and ‘too soon!’ rattled through her brain. His hand in her hair surprised her. His mouth covered hers, pressing firm. Then a softer kiss. He was searching for something. Lightheaded, she opened her mouth slightly and let the kiss deepen. He shifted them again, relaxing into her; still searching. She was losing everything, everything except the thought of how much closer she wanted to be.  
What was she imagining? Her hand finding a belt loop, her free leg wrapping around his, tugging him, closing the distance between them? Nope! Couldn’t do it, but just the idea of being fully up against his body, even in all these clothes, of letting herself do exactly what she wanted and pressing herself up against him, evoked that distinctive lurch in her gut. Her insides wanted to jump out, it was as hard as a gut punch, pure animal, physical, desire. So strong she made a sound and a shiver went all the way through her.  
“Cedar?” All concern as he pulled away, out of breath. She couldn’t look at him, tucked her face against his neck. He was unwinding his hand from her hair.   
“You ok?” genuine concern, now stroking her hair.  
“Yeah,” nodding against his neck. “You just, surprised me a little. That was…” what word? “intense.”  
He kissed her forehead at her hairline. “I’m sorry, I…”  
“Ok, stop right there. Let me teach you a new one.” Shifting a little.  
“It’s something the kids say. ‘Sorry, not sorry,’” raising her lips to his jaw, speaking just centimeters from his skin. The thing, the idea, the possibility she’d been keeping away now twining into their forms. “It’s what you say when you know you’re supposed to be sorry about something but you’re not really sorry.”   
“Huh.” She could feel his smile at her hairline. “Good to know.” His mouth dipping to hers, speaking into the next kiss. “’Cause I’m not sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to read more about Steve and Cedar check out "O My America" Celeste 666


End file.
